One Shot: Rose's final moments on the Titanic
by HopeThisWorksOut
Summary: What if Rose had never met Jack? What would happen on the night the unsinkable ship sank? Rose contemplates her life on the deck of the floundering ship and makes a choice.


Rose's final moments on the Titanic, if she had never met Jack

_A/N: Ah this is so exciting! This is my first fanfic (well the first I've decided to upload) and I really hope you guys like it! It's quite morbid and depressing, to be honest, so be warned! Anyway, hope you enjoy it!_

_Disclaimer: Rose Dewitt Bukater belongs to James Cameron and his fantastic movie._

That night, it was pandemonium. The piercing screams, desperate yells and gunshots stayed in my mind years after the event. A little girl had been running across the deck to join her father, and when she slipped, those behind her rushed ahead, stepping on her hands, legs and torso, oblivious to her cries. The old couple by the deckchairs trembled with fright and the onslaught of the cold winter wind, shod only in their thin pyjamas. It was like the freezing water that had soaked through my nightdress had numbed my sense of empathy, rendering me a silent observer, watching, perceiving, witnessing.

I turned my head from side to side slowly, taking in the whirling chaos. I felt the familiar indifference settle over me. The same apathetic coat I felt draped over my heart when I first viewed the Titanic in all its glory that first fated day. How ironic. My first and last encounter with the ship were both as unfeeling as the other. This train of thought was broken when I was knocked aside roughly by a frantic man, shouting for someone.

It was tedious, this meaningless chase. Those that were not on deck by now were very likely drowned. In fact, even those that were on deck right now were likely to be floating corpses by morning. It was pointless to struggle in face of this mighty hand. I had a little laugh. We, the supposed upper class, believing we were superior over others, rulers of the world, in control of each other's' lives as well as our own. Us with our dinner parties and mindless conversation, pointless segregation and strict social circles. Oh, and the pieces of scandal we had laughed at and examined for leisure, destroying others' reputations and lives by our idle chatter, believing ourselves to be righteous and them to be deserving of their downfall. Yet look at us now. I laughed again, this time louder, longer, wilder. No one turned to look at me though. I was now the norm amidst these uncivilized animals. To see us, the 'nobility' - practically royals - slipping around the deck, pushing others aside, regardless of their class, gender, surname, crying frantically or hysterical with fear, grabbing onto lifejackets and begging to be let on the life-rafts. This may be the truest moment I have witnessed amongst my own. Humans in their primal state – afraid and desperate. This is who we all are, beneath the façade, smooth masks and cool smiles.

I laughed harder as I spotted Mr. Maleday, second richest heir on the ship and the cheating husband of Gemima Brownstone Maleday, trip over a large chain. He, clad in an oversized lifejacket, bounced a few times on his front before regaining his balance, and dashed, with flailing arms, onwards. We were laughable, in our useless scramble for life. I calmly walked to the side of the ship, pushing past the sobbing huddles and shocked individuals. There were only two choices now, for me. One, really. With my elevated perspective of human nature, and having been oppressed my entire life, it was fitting that I held the final, fatal decision in my own hands. Literally.

I looked down at the shiny revolver in my hands, and tilted it a few times in the glaring lights, admiring its sheen, shape and smoothness. Tracing the barrel lovingly, as if it were a wedding ring or a smiling child, I used my final moments to remember my own cleverness. The swift manoeuvre it had required to finally acquire this treasure was barely representative of its worth now. I had taken it from Cal's - my clueless fiancé's - coat a few weeks before boarding this infernal ship, planning to use it on the night of our departure. He had noticed its absence the next morning, yelling at the staff and his butler for being so careless. When he turned to see me standing there impassive in the doorway, he had calmed, and touched my face lightly, smiling that it was nothing. That losing the gun was replaceable, unlike the jewel in his safe, his stocks, and me, his beautiful darling. I had smiled back at him, my sweetest smile, all the while thinking of his foolishness, and how his companion now belonged to me. How the bulge under the mattress signified hope, escape, and a tiny sliver of light in my dark world. How typical it was that something so unimportant to him meant so much to me. Something had delayed my plan that week, and the next, and the next, but I had never forgotten my friend, waiting patiently, hidden. And now it would aid me, as it had always promised to.

I swallowed. I was going to finally do it. What I had planned for months, maybe even years. Since my sixteenth birthday, if I were to be perfectly honest. That's when the darkness first bloomed and settled, and delegated itself as my heavy shadow, never leaving my side. A violent push knocked me off balance, causing me to drop the gun, and for it to skid over the polished floor. I gave a scream and dived down after it, pushing the trampling feet aside, and biting down unthinkingly on the hand that tried to grab it. "No! It's mine! It's mine!" I screeched, and the hand withdrew hastily. I took it up clumsily again, hands shaking at the closeness of losing my only friend and along with it, my only chance of escaping, and the long ,slow death that awaited. Not so different from what I had been feeling my whole life, actually. I thought of the swirling depths pulling the ship slowly down and me with it. I had no more time. I had no more time to contemplate what I was about to do, or what I was leaving behind, or what… damn it!

The world jolted and steepened, forcing me to clamber to my feet and hold onto the railing. No time, no time, no time. I cocked the gun, as I had seen Cal do it a million times, perhaps because he enjoyed the power, or simply found the sharp click aurally appealing. I felt neither right now, and with numb hands, I lifted it to my head forcefully, knocking my forehead hard. Gasping at the unexpected pain, I scolded myself, and told myself the pain to come would be a thousand million times worse. But I would endure it. By God I would. It was better than all this. This time, I positioned the gun level to my temple before forcing it against my skin, surprised to feel its coolness even in this freezing climate. I involuntarily trembled, and nearly flung the object away from me, but I gritted my teeth and stilled my hand.

_Goodbye, mother. Goodbye Cal. Goodbye, Rose._

Then expelling my last breath, I gave a guttural cry as I pressed down firmly on the trigger.


End file.
